When the doorbell rang, I reluctantly removed my fingers from Cordelia's grasp. She stirred in protest. "Let Dennis get it," she muttered drowsily.
"That should be Wesley," I reminded her quietly, and her eyes opened immediately.
"Oh. Right." With a wince, she began to sit up, and I headed for the door.
Dennis had not opened the door for Wesley. I tried not to admit to myself that I was pleased by that. It sounded pathetic, even in my own mind.
When I opened the door, and Wesley Wyndham-Pryce and I took stock of each other, I was suitably impressed by the number of cuts, burns, and mottled marks of various kinds covering almost all the visible parts of his body. His gaze was as appraising as my own must have been, though perhaps even wearier. "Doyle. Perhaps the sole redeeming virtue of this atrocious day is the fact that you actually look worse than I do, even without the benefit of Faith's tender ministrations."
"Glad I've brightened someone's day then," I answered acidly, and let him in.
Cordelia, disheveled by her nap, was up and moving out of the bedroom. The mark on her face had blossomed into a huge bruise. As Wesley approached her, I noticed that he was holding one arm awkwardly, as though it might be dislocated.
The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and he reached out, with the arm that didn't seem impaired, to brush his fingers very lightly against her face. I stood still, watching them.
In that moment, seeing the gentleness of his gesture as he touched Cordelia, seeing his obvious concern for her, even though her injuries were visibly less severe than his, I couldn't hate the man, no matter how I tried.
"Bitch," he whispered, and when Cordelia's eyes widened, he added hastily, "Not you, of course. Faith."
"Who is with Angel right now, I hear," I put in, since Cordelia had missed that phone conversation.
"What?" She glanced at me, then turned to Wesley in confusion.
Wesley nodded slightly, as though the movement hurt. "Quite correct. Apparently after Faith had amused herself sufficiently with me for a few hours, Angel decided that she needed his personal attention, at home."
"He what?" Cordelia sputtered.
"Yes, it's quite the interesting turn of events, isn't it? He packed me off here to hide out with the two of you, for my own safety of course, while he spends some quality time with Faith."
The bitterness in Wesley's voice told me even more than his words. I decided it was time to de-escalate things a bit, since I had been the one foolish enough to bring up Angel. That had been a bad choice of subject, at the moment.
"Have you had that arm looked at?"
He turned to me with a disdainful glare. "I'll attend to my own injuries, in my own time, thank you, Mr. Doyle."
"What's wrong with your arm?" Cordelia asked, and I was relieved that I had succeeded in diverting them from the topic of Angel.
"Nothing that the electrocution of a certain rogue slayer wouldn't cure. Or gas, perhaps. Gas would do the trick nicely." With a sudden wobble of exhaustion, Wesley found his way to the couch and abruptly sat down.
Cordelia sat down next to him, and gestured to me to sit on her other side. I did, glad that it was a reasonably large couch, and glad that Cordelia had her back to me as she put a hand lightly on Wesley's shoulder. He flinched at the touch.
"You didn't deserve this," she said with growing anger, as she looked him over.
"What, Faith's fascinating exploration of the basic torture groups? Oh, but I did, Cordelia. Isn't that the word of the day? If I had been a better Watcher...."
"Screw that," I interrupted rudely, and Wesley looked astonished. "Cordelia filled me in on this Faith, and she's obviously way too far gone for it to be the result of anything you did. The only one responsible for Faith is Faith."
"Coming from you, that's quite unexpected," Wesley said slowly.
Cordelia turned toward me with a smile, the first one that I'd seen since Angel and I found her on the floor. "Doyle is a lot wiser than he looks, you know."
"Naah, just very familiar with bad choices. She made hers. Someone needs to call her on them."
I hadn't realized what I was going to do until I stood up. "Dennis, you listening?"
An immediate rattling in the cupboards in the kitchen was my reply.
"Don't let anyone in here today that you don't know, got it?" The rattling came again, even louder, as though Dennis wanted to assure me of his enthusiastic agreement.
Wesley stared at Cordelia. "He's talking to - your ghost?"
"Sure. Doyle knows Dennis, he was here when we found out about Dennis. Doyle, where are you going?"
I didn't answer, but she figured it out fast enough. "You're not going anywhere near her, are you? She could kill you in two seconds."
"Make that one second," Wesley corrected, giving me a scornful look. "Angel's instructions were quite strict, Doyle. You and I and Cordelia are to stay completely away today while he deals with Faith."
"I never was the kind to do what I was told."
"Doyle," Cordelia protested, "Don't go there. What if she decides to torture you next? Whatever Angel's doing with her, you'd only get in the way."
I turned to Wesley, ignoring Cordelia for the moment. "I'll take the car, so I shouldn't be too long. Will you stay here with Cordelia?"
"Of course." Our eyes met, and I saw a grudging truce acknowledged in his gaze.
"Doyle - "
Then I turned to Cordelia. "I'm not leaving you alone. Wesley will stay."
"What do you think I am, a baby? It's not me I'm worried about right now, it's you."
Echoing her words deliberately, I responded, "It's not me I'm worried about right now, it's Angel."
"And what do you think you can do about it if you walk in there and she's beating him up? A tap of her little finger would be enough to knock you out."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, both of you," I said dryly.
Furiously, Cordelia snapped back: "So then, what? What do you think you're going to do? Throw yourself on the same stake she uses on him, so the two of you can die together? Don't be an idiot, Doyle! There's nothing you can do there. He doesn't want you there, he wants you safe."
"I know that, Cordelia. That's exactly why I need to be there."
She stared at me for a moment, then let out a little half-scream of frustration. "Men! No matter how sick they are, it doesn't change what they think with." She turned to Wesley as though for confirmation, and then she and I both noticed Wesley's stunned expression.
With a sinking feeling, I realized that Angel had not yet told Wesley what Cordelia and I had just revealed.
Bright move, Doyle, I told myself. The man's down far enough already, he didn't really need to be kicked just now.
"Excuse me," Wesley muttered in a strangled-sounding voice. "Cordelia, where is your W.C.?" She didn't understand the question, so I was the one to point him in the right direction.
He rushed off, weaving more than a little, and she and I both heard the sounds of vomiting.
The sole redeeming virtue of Wesley's day had just bitten the dust. At the moment, I could be fairly confident, even without looking in a mirror, that he looked worse than I did.
Cordelia gave me a rueful little half-smile. "We messed up, didn't we?"
"We did."
"I still don't want you to go."
"I know. I'm still going."
"I know. But please, do come back. I'm not ready to lose you yet."
Very softly, almost in a whisper, I asked, "And do you think sometime you will be?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But, not today, okay? Do we have a deal?"
"Not today, if I can help it," I agreed, and let myself mean it.
Not today. But soon, I added in my own mind, soon.
In the meantime, I had instructions to disobey. I kissed Cordelia very lightly, on the unbruised side of her face, and left the apartment.
